


True Loves Kiss

by OriginalQueenBee



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cute Ending, M/M, No Smut, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, RusAme, fairytales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalQueenBee/pseuds/OriginalQueenBee
Summary: Due to a magical mishap, America and Russia are forced to reenact classic fairy tales. Every time they screw up or fight, they just end up in a new fairy tale. They can't escape until they manage one True Love's Kiss....
Relationships: America & Russia (Hetalia), America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 100% NOT mine it was originally on Live journal I just thought it deserved more justice and put it in here, I also don’t know if anyone has reuploaded it here as well

America glared at the locked door. It’s been months since I lent him all those video games… Why hasn’t he given them back yet?

He rang the doorbell again and again, his finger jabbing into the plastic knob impatiently. Minutes past, and he sighed.

…Oh well…not like I haven’t done it before~…

He pulled a paperclip from his pocket, unfolded the wire and jabbed it into the lock. 

“What are you doing, America?”

America jumped and nearly tore the door off its hinges in surprise. “Wha-what-??” He whirled around and found Russia staring back at him. “…What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” America explained in a rush. “It’s just England’s been putting off giving back a few of my things I lent him and…well...”

“…You do realize that this is breaking and entering?”

America decided to ignore that and continued to pick the lock. “I called and left a message.”

“…And that makes it…not illegal?”

“Exactly.” America twisted the wire and the lock popped open. “It’s his fault for teaching me how to pick locks anyway.”

Russia only raised an eyebrow and tucked a folder full of documents under his arm.

“So what are you doing here anyway?” America opened the door and was greeted to a dark house with the drapes drawn closed. “You usually don’t just…drop by to chat with England.”

Russia hummed and followed America into the home, thoughtfully closing the door behind him. “I had hoped to discuss some trade agreements with him regarding that oil company of his…but it seems he is not home.”*

America groaned, his hand automatically reaching up to rub at his temples. 

That’s the last thing I want to think about right now…

America walked directly to the television that sat in the living room. “They should be right around here…” He looked from side to side, searching over and around the television set. “Wait…they’re not here?”

Russia stood in the doorway to the room. “What is it you are looking for?”

“I lent him my video games…wait.” America turned around suddenly and ran up the stairs to the second floor. 

Russia watched him, his violet eyes holding guarded curiosity. Giving into his inner whims, he followed after the younger nation. “You let England borrow…your video games?”

America stood before a door, his paper clip jammed in the lock once more. “He asked me about them and said he wanted to borrow them.”

“…you thought England genuinely wished to play your video games?”

“Well…I thought maybe he wanted to see what he was missing!” America’s cheeks heated up and he glared holes into the door, refusing to make eye contact with the elder nation standing directly beside him. “But…now I know better.”

The lock popped open once more, and America shoved the door away. The room was large and dusty, filled with old boxes and moldy clothes and books. 

“…and England complains about my storage room! Hah!” America stormed into the room and started digging through the boxes. “I bet he threw them in here! Probably didn’t want me playing them anymore or something…”

“…You really think England would do that?” Russia questioned, pulling the folder from his pocket and sliding it into his coat. 

“He hates my video games and he hates it when I play them whenever he’s over visiting…I should’ve known.” America smirked. “He just doesn’t know what he’s missing!”

Russia stepped inside the room, and looked around. Things from hundreds of years ago seemed to fill every corner of the room. Old moth-eaten clothing, rotting and rusting weapons, boxes filled with other odds and ends. A book case stood at one corner of the room, reaching from the floor to the ceiling. Intrigued, he walked through the mess and stood before the bookcase. The books appeared to be far older than America, many covered in thick cobwebs and layers of dust coating the leather tomes. The titles of each book were etched into the leather binding in pure gold and silver… except for one. The lettering was etched in red, the English words entirely unfamiliar to him. His curiosity getting the better of him, he tugged the tome from its place and turned to America. 

“What does this book say?” 

America looked up from a box he was rifling through, various objects laying around him in heaps. His eyes widened. “You shouldn’t touch those.” 

“Why?” 

“Because…because England always warned me about his, ah…books.”…Especially back when I was his colony…

Russia returned his gaze back to the book. “Really?” 

America stood and closed the distance between them. “That’s…damn that’s really old.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because it’s in that weird language England used to speak…” America took the book from Russia and pressed his fingers to the red lettering. “I can’t recognize any of it.” 

“Then maybe we should put it away-“

America gripped the book and let it fall open in his hands. The paper was ancient, the writing inside looked to be done by hand, the letters formal and curved and delicate. A sudden wave of dizziness overcame America, the room spun and turned on its axis. Dropping the book to the floor, he clung to Russia, who in turn collapsed to the floor. America fell with him, striking his head on the edge of a box. White spots filled his vision before exhaustion overtook him. 

++

“This…this can’t be happening.” 

America glared into the mirror, and the reflection of a small boy glared back. He looked just as he did during his colonial days, only the clothes were strange and foreign. Raising his hands to his face, he pressed his fingers to his cheeks, his nose, his mouth…everything felt real and alive. He pinched his cheek, and winced at the sudden sting of pain. 

“Oh shit…fuck this isn’t happening.” America felt panic rising in his chest like a balloon on the verge of bursting. “Where…how-?”

“Hansel!”

A voice boomed from the other room. America slowly turned around, stepped across his tiny room to the door. 

“Uh…?”

A tall man with slicked back brown hair and a rugged outfit turned the corner. 

“Hansel, the sun has been up for two hours now. Don’t you know better than to dawdle so?” The man glared at him, his eyes a strange teal color. He grabbed his hand, and dragged him down the hall. “You’re sister is waiting.” 

“H-hansel…??” America gaped at him, his jaw dropping. “Wha-… sister?” 

The man turned a corner and pushed him into the room. America stumbled and bumped into someone. “Ah- who…?” Regaining his balance, he stepped away and found someone roughly his same height standing before him clothed in a dress of plain earthen colors. The person had ashy-blond hair, pale skin, violet eyes…wait. 

Russia had his fingers dug into the dress, his cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink as he shivered in embarrassment. America gawked, his mouth slowly splitting into a hysterical grin. Russia glared at him darkly, his teeth grinding against each other. 

“Stop laughing.” 

America smothered his mouth with his hands and snorted from his attempts to stifle his laughter. 

“Come you two, we must leave.” 

America and Russia glanced to each other, both holding similar looks of “What the fuck is going on?”, and then stared at the man. 

“Where are we going?” America asked suddenly. “And who are you?” 

The man stared at them. “I’m your father. What’s the matter with you? Did you hit your head?” 

He shook his head, took both of their hands into his own, and pulled them through the door. 

++

America and Russia followed the older man, who claimed to be their father through the woods. They distanced themselves from the man until they could whisper to each other without the risk of being overheard. 

“What the fuck is going on??” America hissed to Russia. “Why are we kids, wearing strange clothes, and…and… my name is Hansel. Hansel. Wait. Isn’t that… oh my god.” 

“This couldn’t be a dream.” Russia tried reasoning, tried thinking about the entire situation logically. “This-”

“It’s magic.” 

“This could be some kind-…Magic?” 

America leaned in close. “That book we found, remember??” 

Realization cleared the glaze of confusion from Russia’s stare. “You think that book started all this?” 

“It was different from all the others, and it was really old… what if it was magical or… or cursed?” 

“You mean… that…book cursed us. And now…we’re stuck in…?”

America turned away, focusing his gaze back to their father.

He was gone. 

++

“Okay…okay. So we’re stuck in a fairytale. Big deal!” America forced a laugh and turned to face Russia once again. “All fairytales end happily ever after right? So… we’re in the story of Hansel and Gretel. Nothing bad happens to us!” 

Russia crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look normal despite being clothed in a dress. His cheeks were rosy and face still held the plump, youthful roundness. 

“That’s your version.” Russia fidgeted and fiddled with his girly clothes. “That book was old.” 

“…So…this doesn’t have a happy ending?” 

“I don’t know, I never read it.” 

“What?” America rushed over to him and gripped Russia’s shoulder’s with his tiny hands. “But you have to know!” 

“I didn’t spend my youth reading fairytales.” Russia glared at him and pushed him away. “Shouldn’t we be thinking of a way to get out of here?” 

“But…but this is a spell…or a curse right?” America started pacing before Russia, an old nervous habit. “And from my experience with England’s weird spells… there’s only a certain way to break them.” 

“…Go on.” 

“Well…uh…what if…we had to follow the fairytale like…like how its told? Like-“

“You think reenacting this fairytale will break the spell.” 

“Yes!” America jabbed a finger in the air at Russia. “I think that’s how we’ll break the spell.” 

Russia rolled this around in his mind. “…So what is this fairytale we’re in?” 

“Its about a brother and a sister, Hansel and Gretel. I’m Hansel, so that obviously makes you the chick.” 

“…Yes.” Russia admitted in a growl. “I’m Gretel then.” 

“So it starts out with Hansel and Gretel being left in the woods by their dad, the woodcutter, cause their step-mom is a bitch who doesn’t love her step-kids. Hansel, being the awesome older brother, brings bread and leaves a trail of bread crumbs from their home to where their Dad abandons them. Unfortunately, birds eat the bread crumbs.” 

“Smart.”

“So they wander through the woods, trying to find their way home, when they come across a Gingerbread house. A witch lives there and locks Hansel up and makes Gretel do housework. The witch tries to fatten me up, but tricks the witch and both escape back to their awesome dad.” 

“What happened to the step-mom?” 

“She dies.” 

“Ah, how convenient.” Russia sighed scratched at his arms that were covered in the sleeves of the dress. “So do you have the bread?” 

America blinked and wilted in realization. Panicked, he checked his pockets and came up empty handed. 

“…So we can skip that part.” Russia turned and started wandering away. “We’re supposed to be lost now anyway-” 

“But-but wait we can’t just…something bad could happen!” America ran after him and grabbed the end of his dress. “Russia-“

The woods suddenly turned on its axis and spun about him wildly. 

America collapsed to his knees, clutching his head, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Don’t pass out, don’t pass out!

He bit down on his tongue, but felt his limbs grow heavy, felt that sinking feeling in his gut. 

Stay awake-!

He fell over onto his side, and darkness welcomed him. 

America opened his eyes and found himself standing before a large window.

“Wha-…where…?”

He turned around, and pressed his hands to his abdomen, chest, neck and face. A wall-sized mirror entered his vision, and he took in his appearance. A fancy coat of white with red and gold trim covered his upper torso. Golden, braided cloth hung from his shoulder, handing off as a priceless decoration. His pants were made of the finest cloth, both heavy and hand-stitched. White gloves covered his hands. 

“...Fuck.” America tore the white gloves off, finding them more annoying than anything else and looked over the room. A huge four-coaster bed sat at one end of the room, while a massive walk-in closet stood at the other side. He slowly walked to the closet and peered inside. Nervous tension flooded his gut. Row after row of gorgeous courtly suits and robes and other fine evening wear filled the closet to the brim. Priceless leather boots and shoots, all of different shades of brown and black, sizes and purposes. 

With each new thing he discovered, the sicker he felt. 

“…Where the hell is Russia?” 

A heavy knock pierced the silence. A muffled voice came from the other side. 

“Are you ready for your morning ride, Prince Charming?” 

America poked his head from the closet and gawked at the huge double doors that lead to his room. 

… Prince…Prince Charming?

++

“It’s such a lovely morning, isn’t it Prince Ch-”

“Please…please don’t call me that.” 

“…Prince?” 

“The other part.” 

“But your highness…that is your name. Charming.” 

America felt his pride shatter into a million pieces. 

What kind of Fairytale am I in anyway?? I’m a prince…and I’m in some classic kingdom… that’s like every single fairytale ever.

“…Prince? Is that what you wished to be called?” 

America shook himself from his inner thoughts. 

“Prince is fine.” America pulled out his old fashioned English-accent from his youth, hoping it sounded more regal. “Regardless, we’re walking amongst my subjects. Wouldn’t want them to think less of me, hm?” 

“Ah! Of course! How could I forget, my Prince?” 

…And England say’s I can’t act. Hah! If only Russia could see me now.

America kept his head high and back straight, going back to the old lessons he learned as a boy. 

The elder man bowed his head, obviously some kind of servant to the Prince. 

The kingdom was small and full of tradition and romance, looking like some classic castle America only saw in fairy tales. The horse he was on was a golden chestnut royal horse with all the fancy training that came with it, changing the way it walked and acted. America found himself longing for his wild stallions back home. The buildings all looked like something out of a painting. Trees and wild flowers filling in the spaces, people all dressed modestly and acting friendly to each other, the birds singing and the happy conversations of the people… Russia being shoved out a stable door and falling into a mud puddle…wait.  
“Honestly, Cinderella! Have you lost your mind??” A teen-aged girl stormed over to Russia, waving a finger in the air at him. “So far you haven’t done a single thing right since you woke up!” 

Russia slowly picked himself up from the puddle and leveled a glare so deadly that the last time America saw something like it was when Germany broke its alliance with Russia during the last world war. 

“Sleeping in! Back talking and holding an attitude!” The girl stomped her foot into the puddle, splashing the filthy water over him and dug her fingers into his hair, jerking his head backward. “I don’t understand why mother lets you live here anymore! You’re nothing but a fat and lazy-”

America threw his reins to the side and jumped off his horse in a single motion. Feeling his temper starting to boil over, he stormed over to the girl, gripped her arm, and tried desperately to keep himself in-character.

“Unhand her.” 

The girl looked up and gasped. 

“You-…your majesty!” The girl stepped away and curtsied. “Forgive me if I have offended you!” 

America released the girl and slowly counted to ten. 

“I…I dislike such abuse.” America finally admitted in a strangled voice and turned to Russia. 

I can’t believe that girl said those things about him…he…he isn’t any of those things…I… America forced himself to think of the current situation. Cinderella…Cinderella…fuck me there’s like a million different versions! What the hell do I say??

Russia was on his hands and knees in the mud puddle, looking every inch a miserable man forced into womens clothing. America stared at him and knelt on the ground, earning a shocked gasp from the girl and the elderly man that came with him. Slowly, he held his hand out, offering it to him. 

“…Can you stand?” 

Russia glared at the offered hand, and raised his violet gaze to America’s blue pools. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to slap his hand away, and do something violent with the broom he clutched with a death grip. The moment came and went, and Russia lifted his own hand, larger than America’s, to set into the princes palm. America smothered a smile, forced his regal face back into place, and carefully lifted Russia to his feet. 

A million thoughts passed through America’s mind. 

“Thank you.” Russia’s hand lingered on America’s a tad too long, as the teen-aged girl started quivering in jealous anger. “Your…majesty.” The title was forced through clenched teeth. 

America stared at Russia and released his hand. “I…I would never allow such abuse in my presence.” …I hate talking like this. So tiring… “Especially with…a girl as beautiful as you-” A dizzy feeling erupted within him. America jerked away and jabbed a finger in the air at the teenager. “Not that she isn’t beautiful as well!” America quickly amended, and the dizzy feeling receded. 

Guess that was the wrong thing to say.

Russia stared at him oddly, a question resting on the edge of his tongue that he wished to asked, but knew he couldn’t. Finally, he feigned shyness and bowed his head. “You…say too much.” 

America forced himself to turn away and face the teen-aged girl. “I hope you treat your servants more…humanely from now on?” 

The teen-aged girl nodded frantically, and in a bold move, stepped forward to grab America’s hand and press two pink lips to the back of it. “Your majesty… you are a good and kind prince. I, as one of your subjects, would be honored to have you for morning tea.” 

America nearly gagged. 

“Ah…tea?” 

“Yes, you look famished.” The girl kissed his hand again, her lips lingering on his skin. “Will you accept…my invitation?” 

A crack erupted in the air for a moment, effectively ruining the moment. The teenager suddenly jerked away and looked around America. 

“Why you- look at what you’ve done!” 

America turned around and found Russia staring in surprise at the now broken broomstick in his hands. The broomstick was snapped in half, either end still gripped in Russia’s hands. 

“Now we’ll have to get a new one!” The girl stormed over to Russia and gripped her by the arm, dragging him back to the stables. “And I’ll be taking it out of your pay!” 

America stood still for a moment longer, wondering about what truly happened when the elderly man called to him. 

“Your majesty, we must get back to the castle. It seems your father has returned early and wishes to speak with you!” 

++

America sat slouched in a tall-backed chair, lush with red velvet cushions. 

“I just met with the Prince of the neighboring kingdom, and to my utter surprise, he is married!”

America stared at the thick white carpet and thought of Russia. 

“You’re nearly twenty and still you refuse to marry! I refuse to grow old and die without seeing grandchildren, to you understand??” 

Russia… when that teenager came onto me…were you…jealous? Is that why you broke that broom?

“It’s ridiculous, all the other King’s sons are married! Why are you holding out?” 

And…hearing her saying those things about Russia…he isn’t any of those things! He’s actually really hard working…and…and muscular…

“….Prince Charming.” 

America was jerked back to reality at the sound of that name. 

“What?” 

“…Have you been listening to a single word I’ve said?” 

“You’re frustrated at me because I’m not married yet.” 

The King stared at him. “But…you…you weren’t paying attention! How did you do that…?”

America only smiled. 

…If only you knew how many G20 and G8 meetings I’ve slept through only to face a grilling by boss…plus knowing the story already kind of helps.

“That’s it. We’re holding a ball!” The King turned to his advisor. “I want you to send this to every house-hold in the kingdom! Every eligible maiden, by order of the king, shall attend!” 

“Right away sire!” 

America watched the advisor scurry away. 

…This…is actually going rather well. Maybe…maybe we’ll get out of this spell sooner than I thought?

++

America stood tall and straight, bowing as each maiden was introduced. The young ladies would come forward in their best gowns, curtsey to him, and then step away. Rinse and repeat. 

…Where the fuck are you Russia???

Hours had passed, and if he remembered the story of Cinderella correctly, he had until midnight to meet him. The last he saw the clock tower it read eleven o’clock. His lower back was killing him from all the bowing, and he really wanted to get out of the uncomfortable suit he forced himself into several hours earlier. 

…Damnit. I can’t take this anymore. He’s deliberately hiding from me, I know it. He should’ve been here by now!

Breaking away from the throng of women that surrounded him, he walked through the castle halls, desperately trying to find the elder nation. At the corner of his eyes he saw one of the long velvet drapes flutter. Pausing, America turned and stepped over to the drapes. 

“…Cinderella?” 

The lump in the drapes didn’t move. 

America frowned and with a quick look around, yanked the drapes away to reveal Russia clothed in a beautiful silver dress. America couldn’t help but think how it made the violet in his eyes stand out more. 

“Go away!” Russia growled at him and tried pulling the heavy velvet cloth to cover him once more. “I refuse to go out there!” 

America gawked at him and tore the drapes from his hands. “You don’t have a choice! I have to take you out there and waltz with you, then we have to sit and talk intimately, then the clock tower strikes twelve at midnight, you run away and leave the glass slipper-…”

“No. No! I am not waltzing in - in…in this!” Russia waved at the gown that covered him. “I refuse to be…degraded like this! And you can’t even waltz anyway-”

“What? I can waltz!” America exclaimed in a rush of anger, but quickly forced a smile to his face and tried talking in a voice he reserved when calming down a wild animal. “Russia, all they see is a beautiful maiden-”

“But I can see it… And you can see it!” 

“Who cares what I see!” America gawked at him in surprise. “All that matters is that we reenact this fairytale!” 

“No.” 

“Damnit, Russia you can’t do this! We’re so damn close!” 

“Look at me!” Russia waved his hand at his torso; the dress fit it rather well, despite his muscular arms and flat chest. “This…I…no!” 

Russia finally lost all grasp of the English and fell into his native language. America could hardly make anything out, save for several curse words that all seemed to be aimed at the dress and the fairytale they were currently in. 

“Russia-Russia please! If we get through this it will all go away! We’ll wake up and laugh about it!” 

Russia glared at him and turned away. 

“Oh come on-”

The room suddenly tilted and spun, dizziness flooded him. 

Not again…!

America stumbled on his feet before collapsing to the floor, knocking his head against the marble flooring with a crack. 

America didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to lay on this soft bed of something and let the cool feeling cover him from head to toe. He wanted to think of all this as a dream, and that he was going to wake up in his own bed back home. He would tell it to Tony, who would cuss about the weirdness of it, and the two would go on about their business. 

He tried taking in a deep breath. 

Water filled his mouth and flooded his throat. 

Jerking awake, America clutched his throat and looked around. The bottom of the ocean surrounded him. The sunlight barely penetrated the darkness here, ultra-fine sand and boulder’s filled in the bleak scenery. Fear took hold, and he tried coughing the water back up. Instead of large bubbles of air erupting from his mouth, only water came out. Instead of the burning pain that came with drowning, a good, soothing feeling flooded his lungs. Blinking in confusion, he took his hands away from his throat. 

Translucent skin connected his fingers together, a delicate webbing of sorts. Eyes widening, he looked down and found himself shirtless, and where his legs should’ve been was a long, muscular fishtail. The scales were a deep blue that glistened brilliant neon when the light touched it. Reaching up to his hair, he found it to be the same, but…

My glasses are gone. America looked around to no avail. I feel naked without them…

Biting his bottom lip, he sighed again, a rush of cold ocean water rushing up his throat and exiting through his parted lips. 

…So it looks like I’m the chick now. At least Russia will be happy.

++

America flicked his tail at the sand below and propelled himself upward, the cool water flowing through his hair, past his face and body. 

So…this is the little mermaid. I know my version…but not the original. 

He swam to the surface, or at least in what he hoped was the right direction, and thought of the story The Little Mermaid. 

In my version…I guess now would be when I go to the surface and see the prince for the first time. The storm happens and I have to save him….

A dark sky opened up once America broke past the water’s surface. Black thunderclouds blocked the stars and the moon, lightning flashed and arched across the sky, revealing a large galleon ship, its white sails contrasting sharply with the stormy night sky. Swallowing, America swam towards it and pulled himself up the side of the ship, and sat down on one of the ledges that jutted out from the side of the ship. Curling his fingers over the edge, he peered through a gap in the gunwale* and took in the throng of sailors. Many held looks of worry and stared at the storm, discussing it in low, even tones. 

…Alright. Where are you Russia?

America searched the sailor’s faces. Lightning flashed again, and a head of ashy-blond hair came into view. 

There!

Russia sat on a barrel near a group of sailor’s, his face only semi-interested as it appeared he was deep in through about something. The normal clothes he usually saw him in at meetings, a nice suit with his scarf that never left his neck was gone, replaced by a white oversized shirt, dark, black-blue trousers and black leather boots. The scarf was gone, revealing the layers of scars surrounding his neck. 

Is that why he always wears that thing? To hide those scars?

America frowned, curiosity filling him. I don’t see anything wrong with them…sure I have plenty of scars on my body, but I don’t feel that I have to hide them…I wonder-

A shout came from the sailor in the crow’s nest, and the wind picked up, lifting and stretching the sails. The waves crashed and the ship rocked from one side to the other. America grasped the side of the ship to keep himself on his perch, but a particularly violent lurch to the side knocked him off, sending him crashing to the waves below. Struggling against the churning waves, America broke through the surface once more and watched the sailor’s try to get the ship under control. 

This is it! I have to watch for him-

A huge wave, larger than the rest, slammed into the side of the ship, and several men were tossed to the violent waves below, including Russia. America dove under the surface and swam towards him, working his muscular fish-tail and moving his arms. A body came into view, one that was unconscious and slowly sinking from the surface. Upon nearing him, America recognized the scarred neck and ashy hair and immediately looped an arm under Russia’s arms and curled it around his chest. Pulling him close, America kicked and worked his fish-tail, slowly pulling Russia away from the ship and back to the surface. 

++

After seeing the castle in the distance, America swam towards a nearby beach and slowly drug Russia up the sand and away from the waves as they curled and smashed against the beach. Exhausted, America nearly collapsed beside him, letting his head fall against his chest. 

“You are really fucking heavy, you know that??” America sighed after picking his head up. “I’ve been swimming for hours…how in the hell did Ariel do all that? She’s like half my size…”

America trailed off as Russia breathed, his chest expanding, and then falling down to its original space. 

“Are…are you okay?” America asked suddenly, and lifted a hand to his neck to check his pulse. It came slow and steady. “I guess that means you’re alright…”

His hand lingered on the scarred skin. Russia had never let anyone touch his neck, much less see it as he kept it covered up all the time. 

“I wonder… something… really bad must have happened for you to want to hide these away…” America dragged his fingers across the puckered and raised skin, feeling the scars layered on top of each other. “I…don’t think it’s so bad. I think you should leave your neck uncovered more often.” You look more…more handsome like this.

America ran his fingertips over Russia’s adam’s-apple, over his jawline and cheekbones, tracing his finger across Russia’s nose, to his forehead, and finally reaching his hairline. A strong urge of curiosity peaked within him, and America threaded his fingers through Russia’s hair. 

It’s… so soft. America marveled, carding his fingers through the locks, rubbing the tips into the elder nations scalp. I always thought it would be…coarse… and thick…but it’s actually really fine.

A soft noise came from Russia, and America jerked his hand away as if it had been burned. Swallowing audibly, America waited until Russia feel into the deep, even breaths from before. 

“Oh Russia…” America whispered, his voice filled with longing. “…You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you about…how I…really felt.” America shook his head in shame. “Fuck me…I can’t even say it now…even when you’re asleep…”

America gave a soft, self-depreciating chuckle. 

“Even…during that ridiculous war of ours…if you can even call it that…” America shook his head, scowling. “I wanted to hate you so much… to feel the same feelings my people felt.” He heaved a sigh, his blue gaze softening. “But I…I couldn’t.” 

A girl’s voice sounded from a distance. Jerking away from Russia in alarm, America pulled away from him and dragged himself back into the waves, where he disappeared under the surface. 

Russia opened his eyes, picked himself up, and stared into the ocean’s horizon. 

++

America clenched and unclenched his fists. 

This…this isn’t happening. What the…since when are fairytales scary?

The sea witch floated across from him, a knife in hand. Her skin was murky and covered with an opaque membrane. Her face was twisted and deformed, her legs a seething mass of tentacles all curling and twisting around each other. 

A shudder ran up America’s spine. 

“Well?” The woman spoke, her mouth filled with dozens of sharp fangs, all pointing inward like an eels. “If you wish to grow legs…and be with the man you love… I must take payment.” 

“You want to cut my tongue out?!” America exploded. “Why can’t you just take my voice??” 

And even when I get legs…every step I take will feel as if a knife is driving through my foot. Where the fuck did this fairytale originate from anyways??

“…You wish me to cut your voice box out?” The woman raised the gleaming silver knife. 

“No!” America waved his hands at her. “No… just…like… not cut it out but…”

“I will only take your tongue as payment. You do wish to see him before he marries…don’t you?” 

Russia…the prince is getting married??

Jealous anger flushed within him, and he surged forward, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. 

“Do it.” 

++

America crawled onto the shoreline. His feet felt lacerated and bleeding, even when he knew they were perfectly fine. 

Fuck…fuck

“Ah…America?” 

America gasped at the sound of Russia’s voice and curled in on himself, trying to cover his nakedness. Glancing about, he found Russia approaching down the beach towards him. 

“Are you…alright?” 

America glared at him a moment before letting his eyes fall to the sandy beach. 

“This…is the real version of Little Mermaid?” Russia asked, his voice sounding uncertain. “I…I’ll admit that… I have only seen your version. I never had much time for reading fairytales…”

America turned to him in surprise. 

“Your…your voice is gone then?” 

America shook his head and pressed his lips together. 

“Then…?”

America glared at him and opened his mouth, revealing the tongue that was cut away. Russia blanched, a strange look coming over his face before surging forward and falling to his knees in the sand beside America. 

“Are you alright?” 

America made an outraged face and tried shoving him away. Russia held fast, grasping either shoulder and shook him gently. 

“America-” Russia shook him again. “Please… are you alright?” 

America met his violet gaze, and sighed, letting his head fall onto Russia’s chest. 

“…right, of course.” Russia nodded to himself, withdrew from America and stood, pulling his white shirt off and handing it to him. “Put this on. I’ll see about getting you cleaned up and something…liquid…to eat. That’s what happens…right?” 

America shrugged, frowning at his predicament. Taking the shirt, he pulled it on over his head, finding the shirt to be very oversized and ending well past his waist. 

“Good enough, I suppose.” Russia offered his hand to America. “Come?” 

America stared at it a moment before sliding his fingers over the offered hand. 

++

“I…I have to marry her, America.” 

America crossed his arms and turned away. 

“America, every time I try to say no, that dizzy sensation returns.” Russia reasoned. “If we want to escape this…this nightmare then we must try to re-enact the fairytale…right?” 

America seethed, glaring holes into the wall of Russia’s bedroom. 

“I…” Russia sighed and pulled away. “I can’t deal with you when you are silent like this. I know it isn’t your fault but…” Russia shook his head. “I…I liked you better when you could talk. Because then I knew exactly how you felt…and exactly what you thought of something. I didn’t have to guess. I never had to…not with you.” 

America finally turned to stare at him. Picking up a pad of paper and a charcoal pencil, he wrote frantically onto the paper, tore it away and shoved it at Russia’s chest. Russia took it and read it. 

If your so worried, then lets change the fairytale to another one!

“But…America we’re almost done with this one. If we just finish it then we’ll free-”

America flung the charcoal at him and stormed out of the room. 

++

America sat alone on the docks, his legs dangling in the water. 

I can’t handle seeing some fucking temple girl marrying him. Standing at the altar, dressed in those fancy clothes…exchanging vows and…and kissing each other…”

America shook his head in disgust and folded his arms. 

That…and the sea witches warning… America turned up and stared into the star-filled sky. If he marries that girl…then I’ll turn to sea foam…and die.

Just then, three heads surfaced below his feet. 

Stiffening in surprise, America jerked away, but found the heads to belong to his sisters. They stared at him, their eyes sad and full of worry. 

“Dearest sister,” said the eldest. “We have something that might help you.” She held up a silver and mother-of-pearl encrusted dagger. “We gave the sea witch our hair in return for this.” 

The sister to the right of her nodded, and pushed the dagger to America. “It is a way for you to return to the ocean, and become what you once were.” 

“If you take this dagger, thrust it into the prince’s heart, and let his blood spill across your legs, you will become a mermaid once more.” 

America gaped at the three girls and hesitated. A light headed, dizzy sensation overcame him, and America quickly snatched the dagger from them. The feeling receded. The sisters smiled at him, revealing translucent talon-like teeth. 

“Please…return to the ocean, my sister.” 

They heads disappeared underwater. 

America stared at the spot where they were a moment, his fingers curling around the blade of the dagger. 

What…the fuck is wrong with this fairytale?

++

America walked down the long hallway to where the princes room was. His feet pounding into the marble floor despite the stabbing pain coming from each one. The large double door finally coming into view, America grasped the handle, twisted and pushed it open. The room was lavishly decorate, the huge bed set in the center. It was round, and the bed sheets were rumpled, revealing two distinct lumps. 

America paused. Wait…two lumps??

America stepped closer, finding Russia laying on one side, and the temple girl, the girl that supposedly save him, which was total bullshit in his opinion, laying at the other side of the bed. Mouth gaping open in shock, America stumbled away and felt the dagger slip through his fingers and clatter to the floor. 

The sound startled the two from their sleep. Russia turned to face him, his violet eyes widening. 

“A-America-”

“Honey…who is that girl?” 

“Ahhh…” Russia glanced from the girl in his bed to America. “Well…um…”

America breathed through his nose, counted to ten, and tried to think of what England might do in a situation like this. 

“America, I can explain, it was the spell- I had no choice-”

England…England…fuck me England would completely lose it! What the fuck?! He already married her?? Did he even think about me at all!?

America panted, his cheeks turning red in anger as he slowly stepped backwards. Bumping into the dresser, America turned to face it and placed his hands on the surface. 

Okay…okay I can do this. I can handle this rationally. Remember what the boss said about controlling my temper?? Right, Just breathe deeply and-

“Who is she?” The newly wedded princess demanded of her husband. “Is she your mistress? Have you been cheating on me!?” 

America curled his fingers into fists and slammed them into the dresser. The wood disintegrated under his fists and fell away in a deafening shatter of wood splinters. Never had he felt so enraged with jealousy before. Gasping, he slapped his hands on either side of the dresser, raised it over his head and turned to face the newlyweds. 

Russia sat stoically on the mattress, his legs and arms crossed, awaiting for the spell to kick in and transfer them to a different fairytale. The newly married princess gasped and pressed herself to the wall. 

“Why are you so angry?!” the princess demanded, seeming unable to take it all in. “We are legally married! There’s nothing you can do!” 

America raised the dresser and smashed it to the floor with an angry growl, as he was unable to express himself with his tongue being cut out. The wood cracked and split open sending wooden splinters everywhere. The princess screamed, and reached for something to defend herself with. Her hands landed on a ceramic glass bowl. Raising it, she flung it at America. 

America caught the bowl with one hand. The princess gawked in surprise, her mouth dropping open. 

Sending the bowl to the floor with an ear-splitting shatter, America turned his attention to Russia and stalked towards him. 

Russia turned to glare at him when America seized his left hand, tore the golden ring from his finger and shook it in the air at his face. 

“I already told you, I had no choice.” Russia’s tone was flat and even. “I wanted to finish this fairytale so we can finally leave-”

America placed the ring in the palm of his hand, clenched his fingers into a fist for a second before reopening his fingers. The ring was crushed into a small ball of gold. 

Russia studied it with a raised brow. 

“Oh now that is mature, America.” Russia couldn’t help but a tiny smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth, a soft chuckling emitting from his lips. “The fact that you are so affected by this amuses me.” 

America raised his hand over his head and flung the ring to the floor, the force of which caused it to sink into the solid marble floor with a loud crack.

“Yes. I know you are upset.” 

Russia grabbed America and tugged him to the bed as the room started its tell-tale spinning. 

“Might as well get comfortable, да? Don’t want you cracking your head open for the third time in a row.”

America lay on a feathery-soft bed with dread in his gut. 

What will it be this time? Aladdin and the 40 thieves? Beauty and the Beast? Some obscure fairy tale I’ve never hear of?

Stretching his arms out, he felt the bed to be smooth, like soft mole skin, only firm. Frowning, he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. 

The petals of a pink flower surrounded him and curled upward. 

…Where in the hell am I?

Sitting up, he found himself to be in a simple sky-blue gown that covered him from his neck, to his arms and stretched down to his bare feet. 

…looks like I’m the chick again. Wonderful.

Standing from his makeshift bed, he stepped to the edge of the flower and peered over the petals. The flower he was in was planted in a clay pot that sat upon a window sill inside the first floor of a simple two-story cottage. A river-stone fireplace was embedded into the right wall, the stairs leading upward to the left, and the front door directly ahead. The room was decorated in a rustic fashion, homemade oddities adorning the walls and mantle of the fireplace. 

Looking around the room, and then down at himself, America realized he was about two inches tall. 

…shit.

++

“…Which is why I want you to marry my son. He deserves a fine girl like yourself.” 

America crossed his arms and slouched in the walnut shell turned bed for himself. A female toad gripped his walnut shell in a single arm, lifting it with ease as they jumped to her watery home. 

“Really?” 

…As if I could give a flying fuck about that. Where the hell is Russia? Hopefully he’s read this story before.

“Yes, now, what is your name girl?” 

“…Thumbelina.” 

“Lovely! Now wait here, I’ll get my son.” The toad smiled at him, or as close to a smile as she could get, and jumped onto a lily pad nestled in the reeds of a pond. Carefully, she set the shell down and hopped to another lily pad where she disappeared. “Come quick, my son! I have a young bride who will take care of you.” 

America, unable to resist the urge, rolled his eyes. Stepping out of the shell, he smoothed down his dress and eyed it for a moment. …I take back everything I ever said about women and dresses. Give me a pair of jeans any day. Plus… this really makes me look pudgy.

“Here he is!” The toad stepped out of the grasses and reeds, dragging someone out with her. 

It was Russia. 

++

America drug Russia away from his mother, who beamed happily when they disappeared in the reeds. 

“Please tell me you know this fairytale.” 

Russia stared at him, his clothes nothing but waterlogged rags. 

“…I was hoping you would know.” 

“You never read it!?” America gasped, his voice reaching that hysterical tone that hadn’t been heard since the 9/11 crisis. “Fuck, Russia, I-”

“Calm down.” Russia admonished, narrowing his eyes at him. “That toad wants us to get married, so…why not do as she says.” 

America breathed deeply, repeating the mantra of I can do this. I am a calm and rational nation in his head. 

“Okay…okay. Yeah. I’ll say yes to that toad and-“

The dizzy, light headed feeling returned, slamming into his chest and leaving him wavering on his feet. Russia grabbed his shoulders, concern filtering into his violet-eyed gaze. 

Gasping, America breathed deeply and shook his head, waiting for the dizzy-spell the pass. 

“…that is not how the story goes…is it?” Russia asked, his voice soft. 

America swallowed and stared at his feet, unable to meet Russia’s gaze. 

The two stood clinging to each other, the silence a thick cloud between them. 

“Then… you must finish the story without me.” 

America looked up suddenly, his eyebrows knitting together and face scrunching up. 

“Don’t.” Russia glared at him. “We have to finish this...if you don’t, we’ll just be put in another fairytale, and if you don’t like that one, we’ll go to another and another… it will be an endless cycle. I refuse to live like this any longer. We have a life, back on earth. We are not meant to remain in this magical fantasy.” 

America frowned and pulled away, leveling a glare at Russia. 

“…Fine.” 

++

Three days later, after escaping a kidnapping by a talking dung beetle and his supposed friends, America found himself in the company of a field mouse. She was friendly enough, offering him a warm place to stay and acorns to eat while a snow storm raged outside. Out of gratitude, and urging by the magical forces of the fairytale, America cleaned her den. 

I’m only staying here until the snow storm passes, then I’m leaving and finding the prince…at least…I think that’s how this is supposed to go.

The mouse, looking very much like a typical field mouse, only it was much cleaner, sat to the corner of the room and chewed on a nut grasped tightly in her clawed hands. 

“So you were born from a flower? And are now seeking companionship?” 

“That’s right.” 

The mouth chewed, her black beady eyes gleaming thoughtfully. 

“You are such a kind, well rounded girl. And since you are looking for companionship, perhaps you might marry my neighbor?” 

America paused in his sweeping. 

“…And…who is your neighbor?” 

“Why he is a mole, a very nice fellow, but he cannot see very well and has trouble getting around.” The mouse chittered happily. “I’m sure he’d love you!” 

America stared at her a long moment and returned to sweeping the dirt floor. 

“Ah…I think I’d rather wait for someone else.” America started carefully, worried the fairytale might interfere. Moments passed without the dizzy feeling, and America continued more truthfully. “And why would I wanna marry a mole anyways? We’re not even the same species!” 

The mouse blinked at him. 

“Ah. Right…um…yeah.” America sighed and clenched the broom in his hands. “I can’t marry your neighbor.” 

Silence passed. The mouse set her half-chewed nut to the floor. 

“You are waiting for someone else?” 

“…Yes.” America swallowed and stared at the floor. “I’ve been waiting for a long time.” 

“Do they return your feelings?” 

America paused in his sweeping. 

…My feelings. What are the hell are my feelings? I mean…I care about Russia. I feel…sad when he’s sad… upset when he’s angry…happy when he’s happy…I think he’s physically attractive, even though everyone teases him for his height and being ‘big-boned’…but…

“I…I don’t know.” 

The mouse huffed. 

“You don’t know?” 

“What?” America frowned. “You don’t know him! He is…the most stubborn, hard to read guy I’ve known! He’s secretive about everything, he hates opening up or having conversations about emotions when its obvious he needs to vent, he drinks vodka like its water, his mood swings are scary, he-”

“But you care about him? You have…feelings for him, even when all you can do is complain?” 

“No, I-!” America leaned back against the wall. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Then why do you care about him?” 

He stared at the field mouse. 

“I…ah…”

America fell silent, and for the first time in his long life, he didn’t know what to say. 

++

The snow storm passed after a few days, but it was impossible to leave on foot. America was forced to stay with the mouse until spring. He spent the days cleaning and doing chores to pass the time, but at night his thoughts were fill with the tall, pale, violet eyed Russian. I can’t keep rejecting the fairytales, just because Russia and I don’t…don’t…end up together. I have to push him from my mind…I can’t keep thinking of him like this…even if I miss him so much.

He sighed and rolled over in his makeshift bed. If this was like any of the other fairytales, most likely it involves me marrying a prince of some sort.

The day spring came, he left the mouse’s home and started off on foot. Spending days walking through immense forests and thick underbrush, he crested a hill and found himself in another strange forest, only the trees were replaced with tall flowers, their stalks thick and leaves fuzzy. America sighed, and looked upwards, finding the sun completely blocked out by the flowers, which were most likely marigolds, considering his tiny size. 

“I’ll have climb up to the bud if I wanna see where I’m going-“

A male voice came from above, it was low and commanding. The voice of someone in charge. 

Bingo.

America grasped the stalk, kicked off his cloth girly shoes and crawled up the shaft of the flower, resting at each leaf before continuing onto the bud. Parting the thick yellow petals, America pushed himself through and rolled, hitting the center with a sigh of relief. The male voice quieted, and footsteps sounded. 

“…Girl? Are you alright?” 

America opened his eyes. A handsome prince stood before him in red and golden clothing, his hair brown and curly. Dainty wings sprouted his back and glittered in the sunlight. 

“I’m fine!” America slowly pushed himself up to his feet, rejecting any help from the prince, thanks to his inner feminist citizens. “Name’s Thumbelina, I’ve been traveling and looking for someone to take care of me-” He couldn’t help the cringe. “-and to find a companion. Will you be able to provide that?” 

Please fucking work.

America finally straightened and looked around. 

“a companion? Why you’re lovely enough, and my parents have been after me about finding a bride so-”

The prince’s voice fell away into nothingness and America turned his eyes over the landscape. 

An endless field of sunflowers surrounded them. The intoxicating smell and large flowering buds directed to catch the sun’s golden rays of light... the thick yellow petals almost blinding in the mid-day sun. A breathless sigh escaped, and America felt the feelings he’d kept smothered away, hidden in the deepest darkest corner of himself break free and flood his chest to the brim, stealing his breath away. 

It was no secret that Russia loved sunflowers. For whenever America had the pleasure of visited Russia’s home on official business, there was always a vase in the kitchen filled with sunflowers. Most often they were from his sisters, as Russia hastily explained upon questioning him, but America knew the real reason. His time spent with Lithuania had been enlightening, to say the least. It was during New Year’s eve, after one too many drinks, that the smaller nation told of the awkward conversation he’d had with Russia once, where the elder nation told him of his dream. 

L-Living in a warm place...Surrounded by sunflowers.

America frowned suddenly, his chest tightening. 

Russia…oh if only you could see this…but…your still at the murky pond, with that toad…where you’ve been waiting all winter for the fairytale to end. Waiting for me to… to marry this prince.

America thought of Russia and the handful of times to two spent together without it dissolving into some kind of argument. Russia helping him during his civil war, offering advice for the young nation. Russia visiting with his Tsar, hunting buffalo and taking in the America’s landscape, Russia sharing his vodka flask with America… Russia and him working together in the last world war... Russia sitting with him and eating a burger as their bosses conversed nearby…Russia’s hand lingering on his own… A ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“…Oh.” 

“…-Miss-Miss??” the prince’s voice suddenly came into focus behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder. “Are you alright?” 

“No.” 

“Well…just come with me, I’ll take you to my father’s castle and-”

“No.” America turned around to face the prince. “I can’t.” 

The prince peered at her, his eyes growing hurt. 

“…Why?” 

America swallowed and twisted his fingers together. His insides felt as if they were being ripped apart and set on fire all at once. 

“Because… I don’t love you.” 

The dizzy feeling fell upon him like a hammer to an anvil. America collapsed to his knees and fell onto his side, curling in on himself. 

I’m sorry, Russia.

++

America awoke with a gasp. A dark landscape surrounded him, lightning and thunder echoed across the sky. Three glowing lights surrounded him, twittering and fluttered about. 

“Please wake up, fair prince!” 

“Hurry!” 

“You must defeat the evil queen Maleficent and rescue Aurora!” 

America blinked and looked down at himself. A royal, medieval uniform covered him, complete with a royal crest across his heart. A sword hung at his side. 

“I’m a prince.” 

“Why of course you’re a prince!” The blue light said. “You’re Prince Phillip, you dolt! Now get up and go defeat Maleficent!” 

…Sleeping Beauty. If this is my version… and the fairy’s are all accounted for here…then that mean’s Russia is the princess. And…and all I have to do is kiss him and the spell will be broken! Yes!

Jumping to his feet with a new surge of energy, America mounted his horse and galloped past the castle gates to the front entrance. Sliding off his mount, he ran into the castle, hacking his way through vines filled with thorns. After clearing a pathway, America ran down a long corridor, lightning flashing and lighting up the hallway in split second before plunging back into darkness. A set of massive double doors came into view. Gripping the golden handles, America opened and shoved the doors away. 

It was the royal throne room. In the back of the room lay a four poster bed with the princess laying on it, her skin pale and hair white-blonde. The evil queen stood before the bed, looking down at it. 

America tore his sword from its scabbard at his waist and pointed it at the queen. 

“It ends here, Maleficent!” 

The queen slowly turned around. 

“Привет, America.” 

++

This isn’t happening…this is a joke. You can’t be the enemy. The villain…

America faltered and let his sword fall to his side. 

“…Russia?” 

America’s voice sounded vague and distant. 

“Well?” Russia glared at him. “What are you waiting for?” 

“…huh?” America stared at him in confusion. “Waiting for…?” He clenched the sword in his hand. “…this?” 

America fell into silence, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Russia only added to it, choosing to level a narrowed glare at him rather than fumble with words. 

Tell him. A voice within his mind whispered. Explain to him. His chest tightened at the thought, and for the first time since his revolution, nervousness flooded him. Show him.

“Amerika.” Russia’s accent was thick, but his voice level, save for the boiling anger resting just under the surface. “I waited at the pond for six months. Six. Do you know how many days that is?” 

America opened his mouth, but his throat constricted and nothing came out, save for a breathless sigh. 

Tell him.

“182.62 days.” The violet of Russia’s eyes darkened and swirled, emotion broiling just under the surface. “I waited at the pond. Counting those days. Waiting for you to finish that story, to marry some prince-”

“And I didn’t do it.” 

Russia tensed and the black staff in his hand snapped in half. The remains fell to the floor, clattering upon the white marble tile. 

“Is this just a game to you? Where we will re-live your disillusioned desire for heroism and-!”

“No, no!” America exclaimed with sudden clarity. “It’s not like that. I did it for something…something really important.” 

Russia stared at him, waiting for him to continue. America met his stare and opened his mouth, only to have his lips fall shut. His mouth burned with the desire to say those three little words would explain everything. But his tongue held fast and felt glued to the roof of his mouth. The meta-physical elephant remained planted in the room, turning the air thick and the distance between them greater than the iron curtain of the past. 

“But I suppose that doesn’t matter now.” Russia ground through clenched teeth. “Because fairytales are simple.” 

America picked his head up in surprise. 

“All you have to do is kill me, and kiss the dead girl behind me.” Russia smoldered at him. “That’s easy enough, da?” 

America blinked and suddenly felt the weight of the sword in his right hand. Letting his eyes fall to the floor, he caught the light refracting off the blade and mirroring it onto the surrounding walls. 

“You have wanted to kill me often enough in the past.” Russia continued. “And now you have your chance to do so, without consequence.”

His hands and feet felt leaden, his chest tight and mouth dry. 

Tell him.

“What are you waiting for?” Russia’s voice turned venomous. “It would be so easy, very unlike your fumbling attempts in the past… spying, threatening… never following through on your promises… disappointing-”

America tightened his fingers around the sword hilt and launched forward, crossing this distance in three steps. He pressed the tip of the sword to Russia’s neck and gasped. 

Russia kept himself still as a statue, his eyes rolling down to meet America’ blazing blue pools. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asked again. 

America clenched his teeth and thought of the past. Thought of all the barbed comments and threats and near encounters of mutual destruction they promised to each other on a monthly, weekly, daily basis. The fear of his people seeping into him, the frightened, naive hatred of the country drowned in red, the misunderstandings, the fond memories of years past, the longing stares he sent him when he thought he wasn’t looking, the late nights spent nursing the whiskey bottle hidden under his bed, the cold lonely feeling he felt upon awakening, touching the bare space beside him thinking of what if’s and if only’s.

Tell him.

Russia stared down at him, and for the nth time since meeting him on that fateful day in 1698, he felt himself drowning in those violet pools. 

“Do it.” 

America faltered, his angry glare softening. 

“I can’t.” He staggered backwards, the sword falling away from his numb fingers and clattering to the marble floor below. “I won’t.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” Russia growled, his voice livid. “Do you want to stay here? Is that it??” 

“No!” America shouted suddenly. “I want out of here just as much as you do!” 

“Then why do this? Why ruin things at the end, just as we are so close to finishing it?” Russia demanded. “Why?”

“…Why?” America echoed. “I…” Waves of nervousness returned with a vengeance. “Ah…”

Tell him.

America swallowed, steeled himself, and locked eyes with Russia. “The reason why…is…that… that I-”

The doors behind him suddenly exploded opened and slammed into the walls. America spun on his heel to face to sudden intruder and was faced with five archers and three glowing lights. 

“Fair prince, we’ve come to help!” 

“Maleficent is bewitching you!” 

“Archers! Ready your arrows!” 

“Wait!” America gawked opened mouthed and shook his head. “This…this isn’t how it’s supposed to go-”

“Aim!” 

America surged forward, anger rising up within him. “Wait just a second-!”

“Fire!” 

America turned and lunged forward, shoving Russia to the ground. Four arrows sunk into his chest with hollow thuds. Pain blossomed and he collapsed to the marble floor with a grunt. There was a sudden gasping intake of air and Russia appeared at his side, his eyes confused and alarmed all at once. America looked down and found two of the arrows in his shoulder and collarbone, snapping it in two upon impact, which in turn severed his artery. The other two landed solidly on the left side of his chest where both punctured his left lung. Blood trickled from the wounds, save for the one on his collarbone which seemed to gush blood within seconds of the injury, staining his clothing. 

America groaned, and winced at the sudden wave of pain. Blood rose up his throat and filled his mouth, staining his tongue and teeth red. 

Russia opened his mouth, but the annoying glowing fairy’s interrupted. 

“You…you’d defend such an unholy creature??” 

“Traitorous scum!” 

“Archer’s, aim for the both of them!” 

Russia glared at them, but turned back to America, thrust his hands under up and lifted him into his arms, where he rushed to the other side of the bed the sleeping princess was on and with a kick of his foot, overturned the bed onto its side and unceremoniously dumping the unconscious girl to the floor. 

The bed protecting them from the arrows, Russia knelt and lowered America to the floor. Almost at once Russia was surveying his wounds, eyeing the two in his left lung and especially the one that broke his collarbone. 

“…Why?” Russia asked, his voice breathless with shock. “Why did you do that?” 

America stared at him, his eyes glassy from the pain flooding his chest and body. 

Explain to him.

“Russia.” America started, his voice wet and bubbly from the blood rising up his throat. “That…Thumbelina tale…I followed through with it, I did everything that I was supposed to…but when I got to the prince and he asked me to marry him… I said no.” 

“You…said no?” Russia narrowed his eyes him, but it held more confusion than anger. “But why?” 

“Because…” America swallowed the rising wave of nervousness, despite the pain from his chest. “Because I told him that…I loved someone else.” 

“You…love someone else?” Russia’s voice was strained. “…Who?” 

America opened his mouth and took a breath, but got nothing but blood. Gagging, he coughed the blood back up and spit it up. Crimson stained his lips and dribbled past his chin, jawline and down his neck. Russia surged forward, but America pressed a hand to his chest. Russia tried pushing it away, but America held fast, keeping his hand planted to his chest. Breathing shallowly, America moved his hand over to the left side of his chest, where he pressed his palm and splayed his fingers into the cool skin. 

Show him.

Russia frowned at him for a moment, worry filling his gaze when realization dawned. His eyes fell to America’s hand, staring at it as if it were foreign. The muscles of his mouth and throat worked, and Russia lifted his head back up. 

“…Me?” Russia croaked, his voice unbelieving. “You…you love me?” 

America swallowed, and nodded, his eyelids growing heavy. 

Russia noticed and leaned forward. “Don’t fall asleep.” He touched America’s hand, gently tugged his from his chest and into his own grasp. “If you fall asleep…”

America filled in what Russia couldn’t say. 

If I fall asleep…I won’t wake up again. Because I’ll be dead.

America let the blood filling his mouth spill past his lips do drain down his jawline and neck. He squeezed Russia’s hand with the one he clenched in his chilled fingers. 

It’s okay. He wanted to say, to reassure, to comfort. The spell will return everything to normal. Just like it did my tongue.

The room slowly started to spin, the spell starting to enact itself. 

“No.” Russia whispered and leaned forward, kneeling and pressing his forehead to America’s. His skin felt gloriously cool against his heated and feverish skin. “Not again. I don’t want it to happen again.” 

America pursed his lips and tried making a reassuring shushing sound. Reaching up, he touched Russia’s shoulder and skipping over his neck, touched his hair, silently relishing its soft texture once more. 

“I don’t want it to happen again, because I feel the same.” 

America stilled and silently gaped at him. 

“Yes…I, Ivan Braginski, love Alfred F. Jones.” Russia narrowed his eyes at him suddenly. “And if I have to watch some prince or princess touch you, kiss you, or marry you, I will claim their head as my own personal trophy.” 

America smiled and squeezed his eyes shut, relief flooding and filling him to the brim. Acting on instinct, America closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Russia’s. Russia returned the kiss with interest, and America felt the pain fade. The room became a distant blur, the sounds of the archers and shrieks of the fairy’s all coming out of focus and falling away. His stomach bottomed out, and the sensation of freefalling filled him until his back met the earth with a bone shattering thud. 

Gasping, America opened his eyes and surged upward. Gasping, he felt his chest and felt it blissfully free of arrows and blood. The chainmail and princely clothing was replaced by his normal, modern clothing. The throne room was gone, and in its place was England’s musty storage room. Somewhere to his side Russia gasped and sat up. America turned to him and found him in the same confused state as him, looking around until their eyes locked. 

“…we’re back.” 

++

America stared at the magical book lying harmlessly on the floor. Upon checking his cellphone, hardly any time had passed since they entered the book. While in the fairytale world it felt as if it had been a year since they entered the strange world, while in the modern day only seconds went by. 

“Alfred.” 

America stepped away and turned around. Russia stood by the door, his hands in the pockets of his coat. 

“We should leave before England gets back.” 

“Right,” America agreed and crossed the room. “Should probably go before England returns…”

No way England could have done this on purpose… he could never have come up with something like this on his own.

The two fled England’s home and exited via the front door. America shut the door, making sure it was locked before turning around to face Russia. 

“So is this it?” Russia asked suddenly. “Will we never speak of this again?” 

“What do you mean, is this it?” America glared at him. “I wasn’t lying. When I tell someone that I love them, I mean it.” 

“As do I.” Russia smiled, the corners of his mouth curling upward. 

“Well…” America felt something flutter in his chest at the smile Russia gave him; heat spread across his cheeks in response. “I wanted to know if…you wanted to get something to eat.” 

“Something…to eat?” Russia stared at him. “You wish to go out for dinner?” 

America nodded. “Ah, yeah. Um.” He swallowed and damned the blush on his cheeks. “It’s nothing serious or anything it’s just that I’m really hungry and the food sucked in those fairytales and-”

Cool lips mashed to his own, and America found himself swept away in the kiss, his body melting in the other’s arms as they closed around him. America threaded his arms around Russia’s neck and returned the lip lock with a vengeance, pressing himself closer and feeling Russia’s arms surround him and his hands raking over his back and-

The kiss abruptly ended with Russia stepping away, a cool smile on his face. 

“I think I would like that.” 

America stood gawking, watching Russia turn on his heel and walk slowly and calmly up the walkway to the street where America’s rented car was parked. Shaking himself free of the daze, America surged after him and, for the first time, looked forward to England’s crappy restaurants.


	2. Bonus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> England and Faces side of the story

“Did it work?” 

France sat across from England at a table in a fancy restaurant. Their food sat half-eaten before them. 

“If you’re asking if my magic worked, then yes, of course it did. It all depends on the people if you want results.” 

“Ah yes, like that time you tried it on Hungary and Prussia.” France smirked and swirled the wine in his crystal glass. “But trust me, mon cherie, it will work.” 

“They’ve wanted to kill each other for the past fifty years or so. I don’t understand how they could be attracted to each other, much less love one another.” 

France smiled and tipped the crystal glass, letting the contents slide down his throat with a please smile. 

“It worked for us, didn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/16221.html?thread=44814941#t44814941 Link to the original post


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